WIND AND WEATHER * L.H.BAILEY ± Class :^. 3 5 03. . Copyright^". \°iW' CORfRrCHT DEPOSnV WIND AND WEATHER THE BACKGROUND BOOKS By L. H. Bailey Under this general title Mr. Bailey will prepare from time to time, in small volumes, his personal estimates and expressions on the important and interesting sub- jects to which he has devoted his life. Published THE HOLY EARTH 12mo net $1.00 WIND AND WEATHER 12mo net $1.00 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS WIND AND WEATHER BY L. H. BAILEY NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1916 COPTRIGHT, 1916, BT CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS Published May, 1916 CU431287 "-^ PAQE Contents \\s. Wind and Weather 1 ^ Cybele 2 Release , . . . . 3 Cosmos 4 _ Rainy Day 5 Night-Rain 6 Day-Dust, 8 Winter 10 Snow-Storm 12 January 13 Dead of Winter 14 Tropic 15 Away 16 The Wind 17 Night-Wind 20 "Wind Blows" . 22 Symphony 25 Trade-Wind 26 The Great Voice 28 The Upper Wind 30 Ye Winds of the Sea 32 There 34 Purple River 35 The Vagrant Rivers . 38 V PAGE Spring Rivulet 41 Between 45 Starlight 46 Star 47 Riches 48 Requiem . . • 49 Enough 50 Cascadin . 51 Bell Buoy 52 At Midnight . 54 Deeps 56 Sea-Grave 58 Miracle . 59 Columbine 60 Campanula 64 Apple-Blow 66 Mighty Leaf 68 White Clover 70 Apple-Year 71 Penthorum 74 Prayer 76 Hermit Thrush 77 Yellow-Bird . 78 Horizon 80 Wishful Traveller ........... 81 The Great High-Roads 82 One 85 Marvel 86 Desert 88 Spare Me One Swamp 90 Mt. Tom 92 vi PAGE The Summons 95 Yonder • . . 98 Mother Mud 100 Hands 102 The Signs of Life 104 Farmer 106 Farmer's Challenge 107 I Plow 108 Plow-Boy 110 Here Ill Young Farmer 112 John 114 Tile Drain 116 Child's Realm 119 Country School 120 Country Church 122 Utility 124 Goods 126 Sower and Seer 127 It Rained 130 Vesper .132 Daybreak 133 Hill-Paths 136 The Farthermost Hills 138 My Purple Hills 139 Beacon 140 Out 141 New Moon 142 Spirit 144 Rest 146 Skein 147 vu PAGE She Sang 14S 'Cello 150 Pause 152 Poet 153 Cover 154 Strength 156 Three 157 Him .158 Two 159 Naught 160 Anchorage 162 Which 165 Weft 166 Fellowship 167 Brotherhood 168 I Am 170 Process 172 Wreck 174 December 176 The Woe-Winged Bkds 179 Thunder-Call 180 Discovery 184 He . . 186 Prophet 187 Both 188 Majesty 189 Otherwhere 190 Journey 192 Back 194 The Little Ships and the Big Ships .196 Five 198 ... Via PAGE Hive . 199 Nay 200 The Rounds 202 Faith and Trust 204 Resurrection 205 This Greenwood Tree 206 My Great Oak Tree 208 My Broken Tree . . 210 Undertone 212 Annette . 214 Index 215 IX WIND AND WEATHER WIND AND WEATHER Passengers on the cosmic sea We know not whence nor whither,- Tis happiness enough to be Complete with wind and weather. CYBELE Spirit of the raw and gravid earth Whencef orth all things receive breed and birth. From palaces and cities great From pomp and pageantry and state Back I come with empty hands Back unto your naked lands. RELEASE One day I went To the fields to rest. The sun Hung low On the rim of the West. A sparrow Chirped As it dropped to its nest. And my soul Had found The boon of its quest. COSMOS The rain came down In field and town; The rain poured down From houses brown. I was afoot when the rain came down. RAINY DAY The soft gray rain comes slowly down Settling the mists on marshes brown Closing the world on wood and hilt > Drifting the fog down vale and rill; The weed-stalks bend with pearly drops The grasses hang their misty tops The clean leaves drip with tiny spheres And fence-rails run with pleasant tears. Away with care! I walk to-day In meadows wet and forests gray; — ^Neath heavy trees with branches low ^Cross splashy fields where wild things grow Past shining reeds in knee-deep tarns By soaking crops and black-wet barns On mossy stones in dripping nooks, Up rainy pools and brimming brooks With waterfalls and cascadills Fed by the new-born grassy rills; — And then circle home across the lots Thro' all the soft and watery spots. Away with care! I walk to-day In meadows wet and forests gray. NIGHT-RAIN The heavy rain fell all the night long Through countless trees in the forest throng Steady and loud in a wild gray song. I heard the drip of my cabin eaves And boundless blur that the rainstorm weaves On stems and blades of a million leaves. I listened to hear the heavy roar Where swollen streams in their channels tore Far out in darks of the forest floor. And all else was still; nor life nor sound Nor humankind in the whole world round Gave note or stir in the depths profound. Torrent and drench lay the long night pall With billow and mist and fountain-call With the rain and rain and runnel-fall. And sweet it was in the pouring deep To lie awake in my vigil-keep Nor lose one note in the blanks of sleep. 6 And good it was in my slender shell While the nearing skies about me fell To be wet and free and weather-well. I thought of birds asleep on their spray Of the burrows deep where wild things lay And was glad for crops on farms away. A balm there was in the falling rain To the beast and bird in wood and plain To ease the fields of their drought and pain. Then the morning woke, and clear and wide The sun shone out on the countryside And the hills and woods were million-dyed. My cabin smoke mounted straight in air Soft rainy pools settled everywhere The trees were clean and the farms were fair. Oh birds in song, and the meadows through Oh broken clouds in the fields of blue The rain and the night make all things new. DAY-DUST OvEE the dust-deep roads I go Over the roads where dry airs blow Out to the hills that parch and burn To meadows sere that scorch and yearn,- Over the grinding roads I go. The trees stand stiff in heavy dust The streams are turned to silt; With ashes thick the ways are crust And weeds in cobwebs wilt; The pastures dumb in cinders stay The dingy cattle laze, The landscapes blear are sultry gray The sun swims deep in haze, I feel the dust upon my face It settles in my hair. It rises with each onward pace And covers all I wear, It enters ev'ry willing place And leaves its fragrance there. I feel the grit upon my hands Its texture on my dress, — 8 In strong clean dust I tramp my rands In dust of heat and stress, It joins me to my arid sands As on my way I press. In dust and rain the fields are mine In snow and sleet and hail; I must not miss one mood or line One drought or freshet fail. I want some contact with the earth Some touch direct and free That makes me quick to death and birth And ties all things with me. Away to dust-drift fields I go Away to fields where hot suns glow Out to the heats that shimm'r and bake To stubbles glare that crack and break,— Away to smoking fields I go. 9 WINTER Snow to my knees, shivering blasts Piercing slivers of ice and sleet Creaking trees all rigid and gaunt Clouds that drive in the wind-wild vasts Houses clean gone from field and street Footways buried to stall and haunt, — Ah winter, old winter, so braggartly hurled, Unfrightened we stand on the top of your world, Unprisoned and free as the birds that are whirled When blizzards are loosed and the tempests are sent — Unhurried we wait till your furies are spent. Wide is the world of the drifting snow Wide over the waste the white rifts go Travelling on with a ceaseless flow Out to the voids we never shall know. Frog insect and snake lie fast lie tight Hidden and snug in pocketed deeps. But we are alive come green come white The year is ours while the 'neath-world sleeps, — 10 Ours with rabbit's track and mouse's trail With grasses frayed and rough trees snow- limbed Fence-drift's clean curl and the seed-pod's sail Stumps white-turbanned and deep creeks ice- rimmed. Crunch and crunch through the white snap- ping crust With frigid bush and summer's dead stalk Where earth lies deep and ice-piles are thrust, The trackless ways are the ways we walk, — Walk out and out with the swirling snow On to the realms of bluster and blow Where ghosts of the years of long ago Shriek thro' the hills to caverns below. Stript to the bone is the wind-worn year Cover and mask and ornament gone — Clear as days to the sight of the seer We understand when the veil is withdrawn. Come on, ye storms! Together we reach Past and outpast the timid alarms — This is our day; and over the breach We go the way of the warmthless farms. 11 SNOW-STORM With windy haste and wild halloo the sheeting snow comes down And drives itself through bush and swale and leagues of stubble brown. Blessings on the waiting fields when the sheeting snow comes down. 12 JANUARY Endlessly stretches the snow The sun stays low The pinched airs flow Through shivering tree-heads bare, Scant windy birds are in air And the lead-blue film is everywhere; The deeps of the woods lie near The footless ways are clear Sconced in the sleep of the year. Glisten and freeze on field and pond The lines are unbond ! — And the gamut is stript to the ends and beyond, It is now that the four winds meet Tis now that the world's in my feet, — Call of my heart, be fleet be fleet! Id The snow! 13 DEAD OF WINTER Hoary and old Covered and cold The white zone sleeps Sturdily sleeps Gathering strength For the issue at length On a startled day When the slumber gives way. But the dozing palms In the tropic calms Never know As they grow What it is to awake With a startle and shake. It is worth while to sleep When the sleeping is deep. 14 TROPIC How tired the tropic seemed As tired as one who slept and dreamed I Half alive through the weary-dry The ravelled leaves hung low and high, Unkempt unclothed the jungle lay. And then there breathed a witching day When old growths went and new growths came Like a verdant brooding flame. And pulses crept; The bamboos melted at their tips And new tastes mounted to the lips. New rain-myths swept The tropic clean Joined sky and earth and all between, And senses roused in bush and lakes As one so gently gently wakes He had not known he slept. 15 AWAY My soul and I went away together Went away in wood and windy weather And nobody asked us why or whether; And thus it came that we slipt the tether That had latched us in to half-holds nether. 16 THE WIND The wind, the wind. The mourning wind ! It comes and grieves About my eaves It knocks and groans It cries and moans. And the chilly moon Rides aloft at noon In the mourning, mourning wind. The wind, the wind. The raining wind ! Thro' dripping sprays And grass-wet ways It winds and lifts It weaves and shifts. And I walk apart Where the storm-rills start In the raining, raining wind. The wind, the wind. The summer wind! 17 In idle ease Thro' weeds and trees It wafts and woos It soothes and sues, And I fall asleep Where the grass is deep In the summer, summer wind. The wind, the wind. The thieving wind! It whisks and starts It scuds and darts It whips the vanes It shakes the panes. And the apples fall Where the weeds are tall In the thieving, thieving wind. The wind, the wind. The winter wind ! It sweeps and soars It howls and roars It drives the snow It piles the floe, And the drifting sky Runs gainless and dry In the winter, winter wind. 18 The wind, the wind, The midnight wind ! When night hours wane And star-hosts reign In monotone It moves alone, And nobody knows Where the dead world blows In the midnight, midnight wind. 19 NIGHT-WIND I LIE adrift in the night-wind That blows the reeds in my eaves. Sounding the strings of the tree-tops Sifting its sands thro' the leaves, Bringing the tones of the hill-crests Down thro' the hollows of dark. Taking me off with its music Bearing me on in its bark. Oh mystic flow of the night-wind Afloat in the tops of trees Fleeing the touch of the twilights Roaming the crests of the seas, Stealing thro' glooms of the woodlands Searching the graves of the lost Stalking in houses deserted Where homeless spirits have crossed, Passing the desolate uplands Over old forests of sighs Up to the tops of the mountains Off to the vasts of the skies, Out in the crystalline heavens Under the chill of the moon 20 Lifting and weaving the cloudlands Till star-lights topple and swoon, Far to the uttermost spaces Where suns and planets are sped Bearing the souls of the living Out to the bourne of the dead, — Oh timeless drift of the night-wind With earth and stars in thy keep Flowing and roaming forever — I lie in thy tides, — and sleep. 21 ^'WIND BLOWS'^ There was a game the children played In country districts where they stayed, As quiet as the rains and snows And native as the grass that grows. "Wind blows'^ they called this simple game, And all the fields is in the name. Billow and roll Bellow and toll 'Bout tree and knoll The round winds bowl Roundly and roundly rolling; And fast or slow Or high or low We halt and go When round winds blow Like bells and bells a-toUing. Wild dry days with all things flowing Flight of leaves down bare fields ranging Clouds adrift and white winds blowing Straight and steady and unchanging Dust-filled highways ever going 22 And the tree-tops onward bending, — Sail and gallop surely knowing Where our journeys will be trending. Under and over and under Over and under and over Tearing the orchards asunder Lodging the wheat and the clover Plunging the woods with its thunder Headlong and change as a drover, — Where we are going I wonder — The wind and wind is a rover. The clear summer breeze Lies deep in the trees With hum of the bees; We wander away In the blue June day With the winds to play; And we hardly know What way we should go So softly they flow. So that was the way Did the children play. They stept from the door With the fields before And followed the course As they felt the force 23 Of winds as they pass In gardens and grass, Like a thistle seed From its prison freed. And tiring to roam They turned themselves home. Oh children, children, many a day IVe followed the winds in fields away. To birds a-wing and the river-flows To meadows free where the wild phlox grows, When woods and shores and life were the aim And texts and schools were only a name. And I never will be so old and gray But I'll track the winds in their wander-way. 24 SYMPHONY The leaves upon the aspen-tree They poppled in the breeze And held the drifting harmony Of music in the trees. 25 TRADE-WIND Breath of the seas, of the four-way seas Balm of the tropic isles Wafture of ease, of the month-long ease Roll of the magic miles, — The trade-wind blows from the end of days Soft and silken and rare Curling the crests of the blue-white sprays Playing my sleeves and hair. Blow, ye trade-wind, blow, The ship is swinging low; Blow, ye trade-wind, blow, Around the world we go. Dreams of the mains, of the blue-thin mains Sighted from tar-patched sails Call of the lanes, of the long salt lanes Flavor of old sea-tales, — Down the tropic and far on the Line Safe past the doldrum calms The trades bring word of the rover brine And reefs thin-ringed with palms. 26 Blow, ye trade-wind, blow, With music soft and low; Blow, ye trade-wind, blow, Over the earth we go. Athwart the lines the world-winds roam- The freighted ships are sailing home. 27 THE GREAT VOICE The greatest voice in nature Is the blowing of the wind. It holds its mood and gature In the palm-tree and the lind. All other sounds are local And with time or place are twinned. But the wind is ev'r vocal From Columbia unto Ind. It moves in easy stages On the long and grassy leas. And leisurely engages With the gardens and the trees; And it shouts soundless pseans In the far and vast degrees, A spirit of old eons Weeping lone on rolling seas. I hear its high rehearsal When the midnight epochs run. With message universal And the world in unison; 28 I hear it in the morning Bringing strength of storm and sun, Of nerveless doubt forewarning And my day of work is won. Rolls the rhythm instrumental Bugle-blown and violined, Strikes the stave accidental Timbrel-toned and siren-spinned, — Mortal hears and makes them his When the soul is disciplined. All the world a poem is To them that hearken to the wind. 29 THE UPPER WIND Far off on the headland meadow-heights we went one autumn day The wind was driving mightily in a sky cloud-torn and gray The birds to covert were driven in, old trees shrieked loud and high The dead year's crop of shattered leaves in the gales went whipping by And broken smokes of chimney-stacks in the round- ing valleys lay, — Oh God, thy wind is good! Down in the ripping canyon-cuts and up on the grimy wall Deep in mud of the ragged brooks, through fleck of the water-brawl Sheer on crests of the precipice where the worlds stretch out below And silver threads of flattened streams in the mot- tled marshes go Away on the tops with jump and run, and on with shout and call, — Oh God, thy wind is good! 30 Then calm in a nook on the leeward scarf of a bluff-head sheer We rode in leash of strident gales in the burst- ing atmosphere The leaves sucked out of the stilled recess and off in space were hurled And fell in droves down the nether lanes like cloths of gold unfurled And rolling ranks of the wind-bare trees arose in tier on tier, — Oh God, thy wind is good! Out and away to the farther skies, to clouds that bound the ken Down on the empty distances and back to the ends again The great old winds of the meadow-tops blow through me clean and clean And drive me down the firmament in the rifts of gray and green And through the tinctured sunsets and flaming fields of oxygen, — Oh God, thy wind is good! 31 YE WINDS OF THE SEA Ye gray winds of the ocean, where have ye been Which way have ye come and where did ye begin ? What wastes have ye crossed in the uttermost miles What hostelless strands on the far-lying isles? What deeps have ye touched that no mortal hath seen And news of the leagues that lie pathless be- tween? Ah, lifeless and deathless ye bring me no word Of the signs ye have seen, of dooms ye have heard And onward ye go to the ends beyond ken And never return to the starting again. And no bounds do ye set, no homes do ye keep No shores for a refuge, no pardon of sleep But ever and ever past line and degree Ye roam and ye roam on the favorless sea. No balm and no solace, no rescue or rest No heed and no ward of behoof or behest Detached and alone ye go whither ye will And when eons have passed ye wander on still. 32 But no hurt of the heart, no fret of the head Are borne on the winds when the worker is dead And my soul goeth out with the winds of the sea The winds that are timeless and placeless and free. 33 THERE There is a ship on southern seas That sails from isle to isle, Its sheets are bellying in the breeze On many-a crystal mile. And I have sailed upon that ship Where dreaming strands advance, And I have watched its gunwales dip Along the free expanse. There is a ship on southern seas — I wonder where to-day And who it is that feels the breeze Upon its crystal way. 34 PURPLE RIVER The purple river runneth on 'Twixt banks of earth and heaven; All wrinkle-starred its waters are By sheeting sunlights given; All dark and deep its ripples fall By raven night-winds riven. I lie along the languid banks The banks that bear their burthen; A little leaf lies in the grass The grass is cool and earthen; A spider spins its circles deft The circles wind and girthen. A clover braids a globed head A wild bee tracks the treasure; A swallow sweeps the waters low A sparrow pours his measure. And far and free a filmy cloud Wreathes deep within the azure. And ripple ripple on the shore The waves wash up the gravel, 35 The while the dry-winged dragon-flies Their flimsy flights enravel And on the pools the water-bugs In ceaseless circuits travel. The ripples and the dragon-flies The sparrow and the spider The swallow and the swimming cloud The river and its rider — They settle in my swinging sense That deeper grows and wider. And ever on the river runs With winds and weeds and weather. And ever stay the streaming sticks That turn and twine together; And sunken worlds unending weave Of sky and hill and heather. A shingle sails along the surf From some far cottage-cover, The rotting wracks of distant farms In hollow eddies hover, And now and then there passes on A note from lass to lover. And 'twixt the surges ceaselessly A straight and stringing streamer Points on the way the waters go 36 To shores and seas supremer; And on the river rides the foam And on the bank the dreamer. For still I sit all silently And mark the water's motion, I watch the spinning spirals swirl And mix their magic potion; I wonder how the mazes merge From highland hill to ocean. The sun and swooning moon swim by And shine in surge and shallow, The soft slow winds exhale from earth And breathe in bray and sallow; The torrent ties them all in one And night falls on the fallow. And ever on the breezes blow And ever runs the river, Forever wind the bending weeds Alway the sheer leaves shiver, The whiles the wonder-web of life Is woven by the Weaver. 37 THE VAGRANT RIVERS From mountain-foot to ocean-breast the vacant rivers run Forsaken through a teeming land with work that^s never done Nor ever sloop or punt or yawl upon their billow rides The while the waiting produce rots upon their bursting sides. No fishing folk upon their shores, no little mills to turn. No clustered homes along their banks, no altar- fires to burn, All fruitless in a fruitful land they roll out to the sea Nor bear one jot of human love to mark their des- tiny. Ere we upon these western lands had placed an eager shoe Along these streams the Indian had pushed his frail canoe, 38 Across divides his trails he led and down new- rivers went And drew a web of tribe and search within the continent. Raw nature cast upon the drift her freight of ice and scrog And scattered far her pregnant seeds on raft of root and log, And migrant birds and footed beasts led out their leading-lines Along the marge of stream and lake in palm and frigid pines. Yet we yet we the conquer-men, the men of will and weal Have bound our hands and lashed our feet with bands of belted steel, And wantonly on cleansing floods our filth and draff we pour Nor fish nor beast can habit where our sins lie ^long the shore. But nature is our background still, and wide as winds that blow Must stead ourselves by wood and wold and by the river-flow Nor lose one whit of vantage free that lies in crop and rill Or girds us with great mastery to ev'ry field we till. 39 From sanded Gulf to green Quebec the wastrel rivers run By farm and fane they hurry on, nor burden borne or won, Nor fishing folk along their shores, nor little mills to turn. Nor clustered homes upon their banks, nor altar- fires to burn. 40 SPRING RIVULET When the March suns come And meadows are free And the waters start A-way to the sea, Far back in the fields When the keen winds blow I follow a rill From a bank of snow. There the last drift lies In a fence-row hedge And an inch-wide thread Drops out of its edge; And the day-old pools Ice-rimmed on the grass Seep into the stream As its waters pass. Sparkle and sparkle the streamlets roam, Grasses and twigs are pointing from home. Oh winter, my winter, you have left me again; The snow's gone from the hillsides and meadows are bare, 41 The orchards are vacant and all stark is the glen, The highways are drying and the woodlands are spare. Through the pastures high Now free of their snows On gray matted sod The rivulet grows, — Dips under a root Falls over a stone Slips under a bank With a muflBed tone. Shines out in the sun Then sweeps round a knoll And spreads clear and still In a weed-edged bowl. It drains the mud slews In the fields of wheat And lays down the silt Where the currents meet. Bubble and bubble tumbles the foam, Grasses and twigs will find a new home. Oh robin, my robin, you are with me again; The sap's in the maple and the wood-twigs are bright, The fence-rows are waking and afield are the men. The March-winds are roaming and the willows are white. It follows a groove Turned out by the share 42 Then digs to the rocks And washes them bare; Then into high swales ^Mongst the cat-tail reeds Where the bushes dip With burden of weeds; And over a cliff It splinters and falls And dashes its spray On the frost-work walls; Then on to the flats Where the frogs will peep And the pebbles shine In its bottoms deep. SUent and silent under the loam, Grasses and twigs at last are at home. Oh willow^ my willow, you have come once again; The sun's on the marshes and the brooksides are green, The lowlands are warming and astir is the fen, The red-wing is calling and the marsh-pools are clean. When the June days come And the growths have spread I pick out the course Of the dry stream bed; — A pathway of stones A dip in the land A basin of silt 43 A handful of sand; A wisp of dry grass Hung over the brim A log-jam of sticks Where the stream was slim; — Its life was as full For a week or day As rivers that roll To the sea alway. Babble and babble next spring ^twill roam. Grasses and twigs will again sail home. 44 BETWEEN To eastward from my mountain height The day was coming on; To westward lay the blacks of night On-marching from the sun. 45 STARLIGHT I SLEPT night long in the starlight Under the calm great sky The cool of the depths was about me As the silent hours went by. The day had been one of dejection It had followed me on to my rest And I took me out to the starlights When the day went down in the west, Often I woke from my slumber And the silent stars were there In passionless steadfast legions On guard in the welkin bare. Under the gleam of the star-shine Motionless long I lay Knowing at last I had mastered, — As calm and as silent as they. 46 STAR Twinkle, twinkle little star How I wonder what you are! If I knew then I should learn What some man shall yet diseern- What it is that sets us here Each within his proper sphere Making plain to contemplate On the miracles of fate. But I think that now I see What your twinkle is to me — Just a little friendly light Set against the roof of night As the trees do stand by day When I walk upon my way. Twinkle, twinkle little star You are not so very far! 47 RICHES I LOOKED into the lily-bell to see what lay within, To find how deep the chalice was, what nectar pearled therein. The bottoms of the lily-cups with olden treasure in Have hung upon the thoroughways wherever I have been. 48 REQUIEM There is a place that I know well It lieth by the sea And there the faded years do dwell And roll their billows back to me. On all the shores of all the seas These ageless bygones be A requiem of earth's memories And ev'ry wave a century. I walk alone on timeless shores Beside the swelling sea And let the surge from far Azores Bring in its ancient melody. 49 ENOUGH Once upon a Sunday On the Bay of Fundy I heard the billows roar Against a naked shore; There was no roof or steeple There were no streets or people So I let the breakers roar For I wanted nothing more. 50 CASCADIN I KNOW a little limpid lin Within a woodland green That drops its fragile waters in A basin cool and clean. A hemlock bough hangs on the rim Quaint mosses hem it in Some tender tufts of grasses slim Repeat themselves within. Two feet the beamy waters drop With cadence crystalline A tiny rill bears from the top An echo fine and thin. No name the shelved linnel has With which it may begin In storm it falls as sweetly as It falls when calms are in. I know a little limpid lin Within a forest grot — In grosser lands where I have been I mind the gurgy spot. 51 BELL BUOY I SIT on the waves I toss in the storm And the salt spray laves My skeleton form; And all the day long With a reckless ease I roll my ding-dong On the ear o' the breeze. And the mermaids hear In the ebb and flow And they shake with fear In their beds below; And the sea-sprite goes In haste and away As I ring my woes At the break of day. And still thro' the night When the sea-winds moan And the phosph'rous light Mocks the shim'ring moon, 52 I toll out the time In monotone knell, In dull hollow rhyme Like a voice from hell. So I sit and swing Where the billows be A phantom-like thing — A ghost of the sea; And out from my bars Floats the doleful tone Out under the stars Of a soul alone. 53 AT MIDNIGHT At midnight on the shoaling sands I stayed while the tide came in, I breathed the wind of rolling bands And the salt that lay within. No mortal stood on any shore No wraith of a kith or kind, — The waves rolled in, and many more Followed on and on behind. The clouds ribbed on in striding bars To the dull horizon's rim, — No moon shone out, nor guiding stars On the world unmarked and dim. No night-bird called, no panging cry From the landward side was hurled, But silence held the hanging sky That weighed on the wrinkled world. Across the sea the gleaming light Of a million souls shone wan 54 And moved away in dreaming night As an army marching on. I alone of the legion souls Enfleshed since the world began Stood where the shore-line region rolls And gazed on the sea-floor spian. At midnight on a thousand shores I beheld the flood-tides run, — All strifeless lay my prows and oars For the night and I were one. 55 DEEPS Down under the world a citadel lies Down deep in the depths of the sea Unseen are its walls by humankind eyes Deep down where the nether-slimes be. And monstrous forms through those corridors creep Down down to the bottoms of time And the ways are dark and reaches are deep In valleys of cold and of rime. High up in their skies strange monitors swim Up up till the light of the sun Some regioning where old twilights are dim And some where swift day-ripples run. For never the sun or planets have seen The ultimate gulfs of the sea, Or ever the moon the spaces between Those cavernous vasts and the free. Great peoples may rise and empires may go The mountains wear down and be gone 50 And yet may oceans lie vastly below As they lay at th' creatureless dawn. And far in silence of time and of night The dead of the ages shall lie Unmoved where they fall and stilled of affright While epochless eons pass by. Down under the world a labyrinth lies Down under the darkness and ooze, And never the deeps shall bare to the skies Till th' Maker of Eons shall choose. 57 SEA-GRAVE All silently the singer sleeps In the grave-sands by the sea, All fearlessly the wave-wind weeps On dunes of the sleepless sea. All drearily the storm-birds cry By the sand-whipped whistling sea. All startlingly the beach-specks fly At night to the frightless sea. All ceaselessly the pulsing wave Rolls the stones in th' froth-edged sea. And night and day the drifted grave Lies lone by the soulless sea. All troublessly the beach-worn wrack Rests white by the bleaching sea. But never comes the spirit back To its corse by th' prayerless sea. 58 MIRACLE Yesterday the twig was brown and bare; To-day the glint of green is there To-morrow will be leaflets spare; I know no thing so wondrous fair No miracle so strangely rare. I wonder what will next be there! 59 COLUMBINE Columbine What doest thou here Upon this chine Of rock-cliff sheer? Above my head Thou standest there Without a shred Of soil to bear Thy herbage up Or a cup To hold a bit To water it. And yet And yet In bloom beset And full of green Straight and serene Thou call'st the bees and humming-birds And I but wonder without words. 60 Columbine What kith is thine? Doth the rock burst into bloom So the bees seek its perfume? Is there somewhere in its breast A spirit moving without rest That doth fabricate This wall of slate Into forms so complicate That but a breath Would bring death They are so frail So thinly frail? Old alchemy They say to me Is dead long years ago; If that be so Then is the mystery But deeper still And I ponder as I will. But, Columbine (Marvel mine Upon thy chink) I must think Thou art alchemist; 61 No analyst Can half explain What doth attain, — A quickened thing drawn from a stone With stems and buds and seed-pods grown Seemly flowers with filaments therein And pearling tubes with nectar in Leaflets modelled tenderly Rainbow hues Winds and dews And the spring's transparency All in sweetest unity. A wall of rock A seed No noise nor strife: Thou dost unlock A wonder-lead And a flush of life Springs speedily; — How such things as this may be Is the miracle Perpetual, And I need not marvel any more At what the earth yet holds In store. 62 Ah, the wonder that has run That some sweet alchemy has won- Kissed together stone and sun! O Columbine The world is thine! 63 CAMPANULA There is a ferny dell I know Where spiry stalks of harebell grow. It is a little cool retreat Of bosky scents and airs complete. There is a maze of fragile stems That hang their pods above the hems Of mossy fountains crystal clear 'Mongst webby threads of gossamere And filmy tints of green and blue A-strung in beads of fragrant dew. A tiny stroke the blue-bell rings As on its slender cord it swings, And if you listen long and well You'll hear the music in the bell. And often when IVe toiled with men Or passed my day with plans and pen Or fled afar on starry seas, I join the camp of moths and bees And wander by the minty pools To sedge and fern and campanules. And then I lie on twig and grass And watch the slimsy creatures pass, 64 And find the little folk that dwells So deep inside the azure bells I wonder how they come and go. And as I listen long and low I catch the cadence of a note Astir within the petal throat, I hear a tiny octave played And slender music, crystal-rayed. There are two worlds that I know full well- The world of men and the petal bell. 65 APPLE-BLOW It fell (I know well) On a day In the May When spring was lush And the thrush And the thrush Sang free, That an apple-tree To its tense buds drew The spice of the dew The slant of the rain The lilt of the lane Where fresh meadows run The pith of the sun The essence compressed In wind of the West The tremor awhir The fragrance astir The tang of new fields The memories of wealds We knew long ago The call of the crow 66 The boast of the frog In his bursting bog The mumble of rills The fetch of far hills And spaces that lie In blue of the sky- Beyond the white moon In heats of the noon, — Till it burst Till it burst Of its leaven dispersed And the yearn of the pain That it could not contain. So it fell (As I tell) On a lusting day In the heart of the May That an apple-tree sound Was burst of the sun and the lift of the ground. 67 MIGHTY LEAF A BRAZEN pageant passed up the street And all the people rushed to see it; There was bugle blare, and rolling thrums Of throbbing horns and the booming drums, Emblazoned heralds, the fanfare's greet. Resplendent robes, and the measured beat And mighty roar of a thousand feet Like victor's march to his conquer-seat. The pageant passed; and a dead leaf fell Slowly and slowly and clear and well A missive 'scaped from a cosmic cell A tone unloosed from a primal bell That bore on its way a wonder-spell: — A wonder-spell of mysteries Contained in patient leaves of trees In fungus spoor and spider's brood And all the living multitude; A wonder-spell of pictures fine In ev'ry land where sun doth shine And long distil the tonic wine In weaving palm and stolid pine, — 63 Of dreaming heights Where sky doth call Of fragrant nights When rain doth fall Of winding roads Where wind doth blow And shaded lodes Where stream doth flow; A wonder-spell of painless grief Within each falling silent leaf That holds all knowledge in its sheaf, — For if we knew if we knew Why it came and why it grew How the living spirit drew From sky and earth its channels through, We should know we should know Why things are so The meanings of the hidden years And all the music of the spheres. A pageant proud rolled its barren swell While a mighty leaf to the greensward fell. 69 WHITE CLOVER A VAGRANT plant to my garden came And escaped the workman^s hoe, He knew it not by the leaf or name So he let it stay and grow. It grew full well in the garden mould And covered a space yard-wide; He watched the honey-white heads unfold And pointed them out with pride. Many a weed in the garden lot Were fair as the clover blow If only its name were all forgot And ^twere giv'n its chance to grow. 70 APPLE-YEAR My last winter apple I ate today. Shapely and stout in their modelled skins Securely packed in my cellar bins Two dozen good kinds of apple-spheres lay. And today I went to my orchard trees And picked me the jfirst-ripe yellow fruits That hung far out on the swinging shoots In summer suns and the wonder-day breeze. And thereby it was that the two years met Deep in the heart of the ripe July When the wheat was shocked and streams were dry; And weather of winter stayed with me yet. For I planted these orchard trees myself On hillside slopes that belong to me Where visions are wide and winds are free That all the round year might come to my shelf. And there on my shelves the white winter through Pippin and Newtown, Rambo and Spy, 71 Greening and Swaar and Spitzenburg lie With memories tense of sun and the dew. They bring the great fields and the fence-rows here, The ground-bird's nest and the cow-bell's stroke The tent-worm's web and the night-fire's smoke And smell of the smartweed through all the year. They bring me the days when the ground was turned, When the trees were pruned and tilled and sprayed, When the sprouts were cut and grafts were made, When fields were cleaned and the brush-wood piles burned. And then the full days of the ripe months call For Jefferis, Dyer and Early Joe Chenango, Mother, Sweet Bough and Snow That hold the pith of high summer and fall. All a-sprightly and tart the crisp flesh breaks And the juices run cordial and fine Where the odors and acids combine And lie in the cells till essence awakes. I taste of the wilds and the blowing rain And I taste of the frost and the skies; 72 Condensed they lie in the apple guise And then escape and restore me again. So every day all the old years end And so every day they begin; So every day the winds come in And so every day the twelve-months blend. 73 PENTHORUM Ditch-crop, mute ditch-crop, stolid weed of the swale I pause at the roadside to read me your tale. I passed by this way in the lush of the spring When bluebirds and robins were free on the wing, When cowslips were bursting, and fresh spears of grass Were mirrored through pondlets as deep as a glass. When tadpoles were hatching, and roadsides were clean With freshness of showers and riot of green. But there though I lingered by furrow and trail Discovered you not in the grass or the swale. But later I come when deep ditches are dry When tadpoles are vanished and dead grasses lie, And here you are growing in dust and in heat Unseen and unsought, yet a spawn of the street; And you challenge my mood in resistless avail Till I sit on the bank while you tell me your tale. 74 No mystery I hold, no secrets embrace Except that I thrive in my own time and place; There are broods of September, blossoms of May, But I am the weed of the dead summer day; I express stale ditches, the humble, the plain. Give eyes to the wallow, the mud, and the stain; Each range has its spirit and mine is the swale, — The quick they may find me: and this is my tale. 75 PRAYER How sweet the world at sunrise was How fresh the breezes lay How joyously the song-birds prayed To herald in my day! 76 HERMIT THRUSH Miles away are street and town, The sun is down, In deep cloisters of the wood Moist airs faintly understood Settle in the chaplets of the hill. The leaves are still, The heart beats loud Amongst the crowd Of mossy monitors, — When clear a-down the corridors Nor near or far Drops a flute-note from a star — Hush! It is the thrush! 77 YELLOW-BIRD Yellow-bird and yellow-bird, you and I Were friends and good friends in the days gone by — We teetered away so high up and high Upward and downward out under the sky. Ka-ehee-ka-ka-kee, ka-chee-ka-ka-kee The meadows and meadows for you and for me. Often and oft in the blue summer day Long have I lain on the wagons of hay And followed you bounding Vay and away Till my soul and soul no longer could stay. Ka-chee-ka-ka-kee, ka-chee-ka-ka-kee The sky and the sky is unhampered and free. Slowly and slow in the midsummer's rest In sun of the east and heats of the west IVe tiptoed away in wonder-bound quest To your sky-tinged eggs and thistle-down nest. Ka-chee-ka-ka-kee, ka-chee-ka-ka-kee There are none so ready and ready as we. Copse-land and garden in winter and late I sight you in crews of gray-brown and slate — 78 And May-month and June in prouder estate All golden and jet with a gray-brown mate. Ka-chee-ka-ka-kee, ka-chee-ka-ka-kee I wonder and wonder what kith you may be. Days-end and days-end and closing of gloam Stilled heights of far sky and clouds white as foam I lie on my back and under the dome You twinkle your wings and drop away home. Ka-chee-ka-ka-kee, ka-chee-ka-ka-kee The night and the night and we ever are three. Yellow-bird and yellow-bird, you and I Still are friends and friends as the days go by And away we gallop so high and high From tree-top to tree-top under the sky. Ka-chee-ka-ka-kee, ka-chee-ka-ka-kee I fly and I fly to the hills and the sea. 79 HORIZON Lift me out of my laboring day Lift me up to the blue and away And let me discover my own horizon line, — Then drop me back to my work and play And the far ends of the world in my day shall shine. 80 WISHFUL TRAVELLER I SAILED upon the ocean waste Full many days and more And found at length my footsteps placed Upon a rippled shore; I asked not what the place might be Nor who its people were But was content if I might see As a wishful traveller. Full many days I bided there The stranger scenes among Nor found acquaintance anywhere Or one familiar tongue; I learned their ways as day by day I saw them come and go, A goodly folk and calm were they With youthful overflow. I know not where that landing was I know not who those people were; I moved among them there because I was a wishful traveller. 81 THE GREAT HIGH-ROADS I WENT one day by the woodland shore And I went one day on the lea, I went one day in the tempest's pour And I went one day by the sea. I went one day on the mountain height And I went in the valleys good, I went one time in the headlong night And I went one time in the wood. And I went one day on the rising road And walked with the upward sun, And I went one day with a toilsome load And walked till the day was done. And everywhere that I have gone Some travelling soul has been And walked with me in the day and dawn And the two strange souls were kin. One comes out from a humble home And one comes out the lane, One comes out from a gilded dome 82 And one comes back from Spain; One comes out with a hopeful stride And one comes out with pain, One looks out to the free-scapes wide And one looks out for gain. And on they go down the tireless paths That lead to the world's one end, And on they go with their joys and wraths And on till the pathways blend. And one and two as I pass on Turn in to my forward way And walk a space, and then anon Turn off to the goalless day. In stranger lands beyond the sea With a speech I could not know Some kindred soul has walked with me Where the tireless pathways go; High on tops of the rounding downs And shores of the singing bays Far in streets of the talking towns We have walked our speechless ways. And these are the ceaseless kindred souls That I meet on life's highway, — We meet and touch and they reach their goals And I bid them all Good-Day, 83 And on I go to my sun-down tours And on to the rock-ledge kills, And on I go to the sleeping moors And on to the wind-voiced hills; And on I go to the palm-hut isles That rise in the southward seas. And on I go to the snow-long miles And on till the wood-lakes freeze; And on I go to the west and east And on to the south and north. And on I go with the waif and priest And go with my road-mates forth. All my path-mates go where they are set And I never see them more, But it is enough that we have met Afoot on the earth-round shore. And I dream the dreams of the age-long strife As I walk by men's abodes And I spin them all on the looms of life Away on the world's high-roads. 84 ONE Over the prairies boundlessly As if ^twere over the sea Roll of the sward unendingly Ripe sun where the billows be, Wind of grass and of popple-leaves The gold of the compass-blow Windmill vane by the clustered eaves Raw weeds in the coulee-flow. Standing corn for every one The woodlots housed and square The rivers warm that broadly run And farm-lands stoutly aware. The far right roads and single sky Fences that scant'ly divide The common lot when traders buy And hail of the harvest-tide, — Over the prairies' long commands To every house we see Over the earth's great level lands My brothers and I go free. 85 MARVEL Ah, the wonders I have seen At dawn and sunset and between! The ocean beach on wild midnights Deep steaming swamps and northern bights The cirrhus clouds in high moonlights The magic calm of tropic seas The nameless sails at distant quays The long long walks on lonely strands Dead vacantness of desert lands The constellations in new skies The rounding landscape's million dyes The fling of frost on country side The burning stacks on prairies wide Surpassing peace of autumn leaves Ten thousand stooks of harvest sheaves The ruddy camp-fire's holy zest Howbe the catbird builds its nest And how the palm-tree rears its crest The sanctity of falling snow The lull before the thunder-blow The sacred naves of forests old Strange rivers bearing freights untold 86 Serenity of mountain peaks The youthful worlds in rolling creeks The glacier gleams on headlands far Deep chambered caves and calcic spar The iceberg's crystal citadels And all the people in the towns In all the sleeping virgin towns And all the partings and farewells, — Oh the spaces and the sweep Of the zenith and the deep! Ah, the marvels I have seen At gloam and sunrise and between ! 87 DESERT Gray and dun is the desert Outstretching God only knows where, Burning tense and fierce like a brazier And dead as the bodiless air; Worn and ag'd is the silence That broodeth on snags dipt and sere. The wind is its shifting handmaiden That drifteth the undertone here; Sharp and hard are the shadows That lie beneath carcass and stone Where harbor the snake and the lizard That crawl to their caverns alone; High and far are the colors Gold sands to the summits gray-blue Scarf-face and land-sweeps in their pigments A-spread in the wastages through; Grim and gaunt are the titans Rock-forms and dead stocks on the sands Great ghosts of the stark arid spaces That beckon with motionless hands; Clear and clean are the night-hours Stilled star-lamps that gleam and are bold, 88 Dark shapes on the looming horizons Barbaric and simple and old. And God, He loveth the desert! — The masses that are steadfast and free And winds that come over the margins Are as winds that come over the sea — Over the voids and the forelands Stript down to their bare verities: The keen ultimate ranges are His, 89 SPARE ME ONE SWAMP Ho! ye ditchers, ye drainers, go ye slow Till I walk once more where the slough-creeks go. And steal to the place where bladderworts grow Softly out there on oozy old edges of swales. Just wait till I dash through the rim of trees And the rank raw weeds and beyond the breeze, To lily-quags reach, then half to my knees Plunge and plow the black puddles where the marsh-stench hales. Hold! preserve one spot where no furrow turns Where no garbage rots and no smoke-stack burns And no sign-board gapes, where no tramp sojourns When hounded and outcast from the primp city pales. Spare me yet one swamp where the marsh-hen breeds One deep old morass where the mink-brood feeds. One sweep of great bog where the cat-tail seeds Are shorn and snatched from their heads by the winter gales. 90 Reserve me one mire where the mud gives birth Of things that guard and strike, where fen-vines girth And sHme-pools steam, where the old savage earth Contests me, defies me when I push 'long the trails. 91 MT. TOM We tramped the ripe October wood Twixt saplings thick and tall; Long 'neath the shedding trees we stood And watched the dead leaves fall; And long we stayed, as lovers should. To hear the blue-jay's call. On smooth gray rocks the lichens spread — We counted near a score; The mosses yielded 'neath our tread And still their capsules bore; The aster tops were torn and dead Where autumn winds were frore. We sat upon the scuffling leaves And pried the chestnut burs; We traced the strands the wood-vine weaves Where no intruder stirs; We found the trails the wood receives Like ancient foresters. High nimbus clouds in strata lay Along the arching sky 92 And scuds of rain aslant and gray Shot through the forest dry. — In gentle peace the russet day SHpt on, we knew not why. Then quick from top of a beetling crest And the world beneath us lay With valleys wide to the east and west And the drifting smokes away. Outspread were tints of the quilted farms And glint of the winding roads And the river spread its silver arms By marts and the free abodes. And far in the great horizon's sweep We counted the pointing spires That stand where the shaded hamlets sleep High with hopes of men's desires. The hanging hills in a broken line Stretched on to the sunward skies, And to northward where the hills confine The Holyoke ranges rise. Old mountains grew and were worn to plains And the rivers sank their beds, Then the lavas thrust these ragged chains Where the ancient lowland spreads. 93 For the trap-squared rocks beneath our feet Revealed the upheaval prime When the mountain rose in stress and heat In some far triassic time. And thus have eons come and passed And timeless cycles sped, Old earth is scarred with changes vast Of hills and oceans fled; And what we know and love at last Are ages gone and dead. 94 SUMMONS Have you flung your arms and shouted till the forests answered back, Seen the footprints of the cougar or the black-bear's shambling track? Have you ridden mountain horses as they follow up the trails, Seen the court'sying water-ouzel and the scuddling of the quails? Then you come with me to Shasta Where the racing waters flow, Far behind the dome of Shasta Where no tourists ever go, In the forests deep at Shasta Where the mighty fir-trees grow. Have you smelled the pitch-knots burning as they snapple in the breeze, Have you seen the camp-smoke rising till it billows in the trees? Have you stretched full length and slumbered on the needles for a bed With the sun-flecks dancing on you thro' the tree-tops overhead? 95 Then we^U go to find the rivers Where they open to the sky Wade the oozy turbid rivers Where the water-bushes He, Feel the salmo in the rivers As it rises to the fly. Have you heard the boiHng waters when they bubble thro' the night, Felt the touch of roaming night-winds as they wander from the light? Have you breathed the wind of fir-trees in the silence of the wood With the night-damps closing round you where no human ever stood? Then you join me in the darkness Where the night is dense and deep. Stretching silent in the darkness When the wild beasts lie asleep Hear a startle in the darkness Where a panther makes a leap. Have you heard the rain-drops tinkle as they strike upon the leaves, Have you felt the fore-winds freshen when they whiffle in your sleeves? Have you sat beside the river when the rain begins to pour So you know the fragrant music that it makes along the shore? 96 Then we'll hasten to the weather Be it rain or sun or cloud, To the hazy purple weather And the dust-deeps that enshroud, To the free and open weather When the winds are wild and loud, Have you torn thro' thorny thickets, walked a ten-mile at a stage, Floated down the falling rivers past the sedge and saxifrage? Have you waited at the deer-licks for the coming of the game? Have you bivouacked in the forest till youVe clean forgot your name? Then we'll off into the forests Where the bubbling waters run, Shout our challenge in the forests At the rising of the sun. Build our night-fires in the forests When the careless day is done. 97 YONDER I AM off into the far north country Off beyond the last name on the map Farther than the new prospected front re- Gardless of the day or raw mishap. I am going Where the miknown winds are blowing And the unnamed streams are flowing Flowing where no yawl or lugger ever ran I am going where the beasts have never smelt a man — Out upon the earth where no foot has been before Where all ways are ways of conquest and there is no atlased shore To the earth that knows no cities, or ever heard of house or road Of book or place or preaching or historic episode Just to be for once together With the unrecorded weather And things that live because they live Nor care why they are thus and so Where there is no gain to give And no trails to lead where I would go Where a soul may search and wander On the peaks and plains of Yonder 98 And make no note or record of the regions wonder- miled So the man who cometh after shall find them his and undefiled; — Glad to live before all the earth is charted And the race becomes so soft and timid-hearted That no man dare sleep one league from any other Or relieve the turgid crowd by going out from one another, Glad that in some distance Nature sets resistance To the barter and the ravage and the plow That some things are well beyond us everyhow — Some reach beyond the timber and the mines Some blank within the sea confines Some silence where the soul upshrines Somewheres no man can steal and plunder As far and fresh as wind and thunder And the caverns deep down under, The untouched tops of mountains The unpolluted fountains In the farthest wildernesses The virginal recesses Wherefrom the race may draw its power To stand complete within its hour. I'm off beyond the borders beneath a homeless sky Out into the largeness where the background spaces lie. 99 MOTHER MUD Ye roils of mud! On slag and road On wallowed track and slipping yard Down millioned years of slash and goad. Ye be the earth's first honor-guard. Clean scurf and rain, by heaven mixed Forth-destined when the orb was flung — Within the quick'ning sludge transfixed Were all the songs the years have sung. No sprout of earth, no winnowed soul No singing sphere, no god of man Except from out your brooding shoal Had ever winged their master-span. Flush sloughs of mud! In fragrant dawn In leaping spring and garnered fall I tribute bring to breed and brawn Nor dare defile one mire withal. Flow down ye rains to earth far-long Rise up ye lands to wind and rift, 100 When ye be strong then all be strong — Full-free of doubt and stain and shrift. For from the sleeeh the strong ones come; And ev'ry bird and hoof and bud In godly part and sacred sum Proclaim the kinship of the mud. 101 HANDS Some hands go to the manicure To primp and polish and shine Some hands go to the velvet lure And some to the jewel shrine; But these are the hands that hold the plow The self same hands as of old and now; — They are the hands that court'sy and perk But these are the hands that do the work. Some hands hap on a hazard-green And some with a shuffled pack Some hands thrum on a tambourine And some hang limpsy and lack; But these are the hands that dig and drain The self same hands that gather the grain ;- They are the hands that pleasure and shirk But these are the hands that do the work. Some hands spurn the rubble and clods To clutch at the golden stairs Some hands reach for the rainbow gods On the pampered thoroughfares; 102 But these are the hands that wield the helve The self same kind in the chosen Twelve; — They are the hands that surfeit and irk But these are the hands that do the work. 103 THE SIGNS OF LIFE Ha, ye dead thing upon the ground How few of ye IVe ever found And I have tramped it far and wide By wood and wash and ripple-side! And often have I wondered where The bodies of the dead misfare, — Of all the multitudes of those The variegated life compose Of field and sea and air and earth Throughout the planet's spacious girth. Some pass life's full allotted span; On some there is the 'scapeless ban That takes them early to the pit — Where be the graves of the unfit? But soon or late the day is sped And strong and weak alike are dead, They meet the summons where they are And ev'ry death is singular; And yet these millions pass unseen And leave scant trace to intervene. 104 The gaps fill in; the earth is rife With energy that mastereth; — The upward signs of birth and life Are greater than the signs of death. 105 FARMER I HOE and I plow I plow and I hoe And the wind drives over the main. I mow and I plant I plant and I mow While the sun burns hot on the plain, I sow and I reap I reap and I sow And I gather the wind with the grain. I go and I come I come and I go In the calm and the storm and the rain, 106 FARMER'S CHALLENGE Blow ye winds and lay on ye storms And come ye pests in rabble swarms And fall ye blights in legion forms — I am here: I surrender not Nor yield my place one piece or jot; — For these are my lands And these are my hands And I am hone of the folk that resistlessly stands. The blood of old plowmen runs hard in my arm Of axemen and yeomen and battlemen all Who fought and who flinched not by marish or wall Who met the bold day and chased ev^ry alarm; My fatherkind sleep, but I hear the old call And fight the hot battle by forge and by farm; — For these are my lands And these are my hands And I am bone of the folk that resistlessly stands. 107 I PLOW Quick smell of the earth, I am come once more To the feel of soil and the sky before To tang of the ditch and whift of the bough With stamp of my team and grip of my plow. I am blowing again with wind and rain I am falling with frost and snow Yearning once more with the fields that have lain Through the months of the drought and flow, — You shall hear the clank of my plow and chain Where my hard-harnessed horses throw And follow the welts that I rip in twain As I turn up the lands below. Jangle and crunch in the far-windy morn Cut and grind through the singing sod Stone and high-hummock and thistle and thorn Root and stubble and rolling clod Puddles that break into furrows foreshorn Helm of the handles, plow-point's prod, — With hale of great harvests my bouts are borne Ov'r the vasts of the glebes of God. 108 Mete to the mark are my furrows full-set Hard with the muscle and marrow and sweat Straightforth is the way and the fields are rife High over the heights of the hills of life. 109 PLOW-BOY Tramp, tramp, Thrust the share along the row — Tramp, tramp, Feel the horses pull and go I Ho, oho The rain and snow And winds a-blowl Halt, halt, Turn the corner, keep the hold — Go, go, Plunge the point into the mould! Ho, oho 'Cross the ends, oh ye who know — Call of fowl and flight of crow I Tramp, tramp. Keep the share straight to the row — Tramp, tramp. How the horses pull and go! Ho, oho Summers come and autumns flow — How the grain will burst and grow! 110 HERE Where I shall fall there let me lie, From end to end the earth is mine For kin with me are land and sky And ev'ry spot is home benign. Ill YOUNG FARMER He shall go out to the far green hills And he shall go out on the mains He shall go north 'long the rock-bound kills And he shall go south on the plains. He shall go out to the desert reach Where the dead winds gather the sands. He shall go on where the waters breach Far down in their weltering lands. He shall go forth in the winter's rage And away in the tropic fire And there he shall stand; nor fame nor wage Shall defeat him of his desire. For he shall build on the good stout earth That he takes from the hand of God, And grip his place with a free man's girth And shall strike his fires from the clod. No nature-doubts shall haunt him to fear, Storm and calm shall he walk with her — 112 Together joined in the rolling year Where elemental pulses stir. Temples shall rise on the land he smites Visions turn with his good plow-beam, For steadfastly on through days and nights There shall rest on his face the Dream. 113 JOHN Come, John of the Roadside, stout John of the Farm For long have ye labored and your good right arm Still hath its cunning, and high harvests and goods Have come from your orchards and grown from your woods; YeVe earned a fair respite and iBtting abode Out from the traffic and far back from the road, — Go build ye a mansion with comforts polite Away up on the crest of the grand great height. Nay, long have I housed where the free road is laid And here is the place where men travel and trade; Long out to the open and in to the mart Old Jack with his wagon and Tom with his cart And men far afoot and the children to school And the summer's gray dust and winter's cold pool And posies that blow in the grass of the spring And hens strolling out and the bird on the wing Have hallowed this roadside; and outward it leads Unto all the round world and to all men's needs. 114 The dog trotting by would not know me or stop The traveller's hail would not reach my high top The thirsting road-team would not drink to its fill And weeds of the roadside would shrink from my hill; Long years have I followed the plow in its gird My cattle all know me and come at my word They know my gray coat when they see me come out They wait at the bars when dim dusk is about, And hard would they stare with their wondering eyes Should I stride down the hill in lofty disguise. No; here let me stay where my trees have grown big With the road and the well and lilac-bush twig And close on my soil where my house-gods may lie And my heart keep green to the folk that pass by. 115 TILE DRAIN Fak under the ground As men pass by Unseen and alone I silently lie. Under bottoms of springs And under the pools, ^Neath slopes of long fields And under old stools Of bush and of brier, 'Neath roots of the grass On hardlands and swale, I straightforwardly pass. I feel the cool earth And slow trickling streams, And roots of big trees That pry in my seams; And crawling things find When pursued by alarms A genial retreat As they hide in my arms. The soft summer showers 116 And long winter rains, The springtime that iSoods And the autumn that wanes, The tempests that rend With their sudden affright, They disquiet me not In the day or the night. Far down to the bank Of the streamlet I run And carry my freight To the drift and the sun; And oft to my mouth Do the yellow-birds come And drink to their fill When the stream is dumb. The cattle I hear As they move on the land. And the burrowing folk That build in the sand. When the plow-team tramps On the full crunching earth I feel the hard thrusts Of the first harvest birth; But the plowman thinks not That I lie down below And tireless prepare For the harvests to grow. And as seasons return All the pastures above 117 Respond to a touch That he knows not of. Years In and years on I rest in my bed And draw down the rains When the farmer is dead; And nothing I care That the people know not Whether I am Or where is my lot. All secrets I hold Of the dead and the live, For they all come at last To the soil where I strive. Calm and content I silently lie And carry my work As men pass by. 118 CHILD'S REALM A LITTLE child sat on the sloping strand Gazing at the flow and the free, Thrusting its feet into the golden sand, Playing with the waves and the sea. I snatched a weed that was tossed on the flood And unravelled its tangled skeins; And I traced the course of the fertile blood That lay deep in its meshed veins; I told how the stars are garnered in space. How the moon on its course is rolled; How the earth is hung in its ceaseless place As it whirls in its orbit old. The little child paused with its busy hands And gazed for a moment at me, Then it dropped again to its golden sands And played with the waves and the sea. 119 COUNTRY SCHOOL There certainly will come a day As men become simple and wise When schools will put their books away Till they train the hands and the eyes; Then the school from its heart will say In love of the winds and the skies: I teach The earth and soil To them that toil. The hill and fen To common men That live just here; The plants that ^grow. The winds that blow. The streams that run In rain and sun Throughout the year; The shop and mart The craft and art, 120 The men to-day The part they play In humble sphere; And then I lead Thro' wood and mead By bench and rod Out unto God With love and cheer. I teach 1 121 COUNTRY CHURCH In some great day The country church Will find its voice And it will say: I stand in the fields Where the wide earth yields Her bounties of fruit and of grain. Where the furrows turn Till the plowshares burn As they come round and round again; Where the workers pray With their tools all day In sunshine and shadow and rain. And I bid them tell Of the crops they sell And speak of the work they have done; I speed ev'ry man In his hope and plan And follow his day with the sun; And grasses and trees 122 The birds and the bees I know and I feel ev'ry one. And out of it all As the seasons fall I build my great temple alway; I point to the skies, But my footstone lies In commonplace work of the day; For I preach the worth Of the native earth, — To love and to work is to pray. 123 UTILITY In deepest wood A flow'ret stood ^Neath unknown skies; Its petals bright Ne^er gave their light To human eyes. A wandering man 'Neath learning's ban Espied the flower: ''Ah, little swain Thy life were vain Until this hour/' But nature knew Of all that grew No thing is vain: The restless tease Of busy bees Had rendered gain. 124 As you and me, So flower and bee Hath life to give; Nor pride nor pelf. Each of itself Hath right to live. 125 GOODS I SAT at midnight in the woods When the darks were far and deep, When all my kin had housed their goods And had fallen dead asleep. A whisper moved above my ears As if slender rain-drops fell, — A feeling of a thousand years From the whence I could not tell. A something stirs within those woods A spirit remote and fine, — And all my kin may have their goods For the deep old glooms are mine. 126 SOWER AND SEER Full patiently the sower walked on his acres deep and clean And dropped his handfuls one by one for the har- vest full and green, Full punctually he tilled his lands and groomed his sleek-fed kine And frugally at sunrise and eve he dressed his yard and vine; When days were fair he thrust his plow and com- pelled his clicking drills And when wilding storms were loosed and raw he sped his barn-snug mills; And day by day the sun rose and set upon his cir- cling hills. Full forwardly the seer stood on the rim of circling hills Where trees were bent on the jagged cliffs and eagles dropped their quills With shimmering farm-lands far below and spires of roof-flecked vills; 127 Full eastwardly and westwardly all the sweeping earth lay prone And upwardly the fleecing clouds in a bondless sunlight shone; — All things beneath and all above were in webs of vision spun Till every part was as the whole and all the whole was one. The sower and the seer each Down life's unending way Held fast his single speech And lived his separate day. For one man cast his seed And sped the coupled hours. He stored his treasured meed And plucked his garden flow'rs. And one man stood alone Where all the world was his, All things that men have known And all that was and is. Alack, all ye that sow And alack, ye that see. No longer shall ye go All sepVate and unfree: 128 For one shall make far quests,- The other ^side him fare And come back from the crests With star-winds in his hair. 129 IT RAINED "Heavy rains made the elaborate decorations present bedraggled appearance." A KING was crowned upon his throne, But the great rains they knew it not The winds went on their ways alone Nor the stars ever saw the spot. But glad the ready farm-lands were When the gray whelming rain-floods fell And all the incense and the myrrh Lay in the magic of their spell. Nor winds nor rains know fame or niche, Nor pause to profit those who play With fribbling gew-gaws of the rich Or ape the pomps of yesterday. The winds and rains hold endless days Nor touched of flaunt or shibboleth, The strong is he who walks their ways — No pomp came out of Nazareth. Old valors rise in silent grass Upon the landsman's simple glebes 130 But gloried stones unheeded pass To wastes of Baalbek and of Thebes. Deep in the backgrounds they are set These makers of the thrones and kings, Old earth will give them forecast yet And lift their Stubbled Years on wings. The plowman walks his furrowed quest With wind and rain from sea to sea — What bears he there upon his breast? — He bears the Seals of Destiny. 131 VESPER The sun has sunk to rest. I am one day nearer to the West. 132 DAYBREAK Have you risen at the daybreak When the world is cool and free And the dawn comes up triumphant Like the freshness of the sea? Have you felt the nature kinship As you go in fields alone When the first new light is breaking And the world is all your own? Have you heard the first bird calling From the passing of the night When the dew is on the grass-land And the corn-tops feel the light? Have you walked through fog-filled hollows By dim pathways soft and damp Ere the pasture-lying cattle On their fields had broken camp? Have you known the youthful laughter Of the brook upon its bed 133 While the shadows of the darkness On its scented pools are spread? Have you seen the wild things feeding In the sun-break and the shade Living each his mode and habit When there's none to make afraid? Have you smelt the tonic fragrance When the morning airs distil And you spread your chest and breathe it Till it sends your nerves athrill? So the dawn is rousing Rousing bird and bee, Thro' the ages calling Calling you and me; Yet we still are sleeping Sleeping with our ills, While the world is waking Waking on the hills; Spending hours at midnights Making mimic day, Longing for amusement Burning life away; For we yet are children Playing with our toys, 134 Grasping at the fire-lights Humored by the noise. But I think I see the future In the distance where it Hes Like a vision of the morning Stretching out beneath the skies; Nor mankind will know its mission Nor its doubts will be withdrawn Nor the race will be perfected Till it rises with the dawn. 135 HILL-PATHS Away over the hills as the train speeds by I trace the long paths that lead out to the sky. With a staff in my hand and bared to the breeze I will mount ev'ry path and mightily seize The roots of the bushes and sharps of the rocks And brush of the pines on their tempested stocks, I will strike knee-deep through the hollows of mud That pour on the hillsides their procreate flood, Rise over high meadows where eagles swing free And vision runs outward on rivers and sea, Pass stones of old camp-cairns with embers and cinds And bunches of blossoms all wild with the winds. I will follow them out to their tenuous heights Till clouds sink away 'neath the limitless lights For long have I wondered what scenes I shall find When houses and valleys are all left behind And downward I look on the world and its bond While I tramp to the hills that lie still beyond. From snows of the arctic to straight tropic sun These paths of the mountains all upwardly run, — 136 Clean grooves of old tracks of the stones and the rains That mark out the routes 'twixt the clouds and the plains; And I never can see the ends or the bound But I know that they lead to the whole world round And ever I wait for the day and the time When over their crests I shall ardently climb And on the last summit shall perfectly hear The space-drifted music that rolls round the sphere. Yet ever and ever do the days speed by And draw me away from my hills and the sky. But time cometh on when my soul shall be freed And far beyond limits of days I will lead — A shape disengaged on this planet abide As loose as the storms and as far as the tide As free as a wave-beat and ripple of rills An echo of wood-calls, a voice of the hills — I will join the high winds that boundlessly roam And walk the long paths on the hills of my home. 137 THE FARTHERMOST HILLS Come over the plains to the hilltops high Come over, come over and rest; Stay not on the plains where soft zephyrs lie But come to the heights where the clouds sweep by And the world-round gales through the heavens fly- Come over, come over and rest. There's wonder-strong music where the storms sweep by Where the forests are rent and the earth-woes cry. There's a grand old song where things suffer and die And the struggle is on 'twixt the earth and sky; Escape your calm levels and on to the West, Come out with your cares to the uttermost crest — Come over, come over and rest. 138 MY PURPLE HILLS Far over the valley are purple hills Soft asleep in a twilight of haze. I think there are fountains and falling rills And aisles a-dream in the forest ways; I think there are birds with a song that thrills And winds that roam in the quiet days. But the space between has a deep morass With tangles and bogs that I fear to pass; There are quaking hollows and sinking sands And white burning suns on the sterile lands; There are bottomless streams with luckless shores And hedges of briers on the log-piled floors; Blind depths I must cross; and cliffs I must scale That stand like walls in the dread intervale. Yet I think that I see the falling rills In the depths of the twilight bar, And I listen to catch the song that thrills Falling down from the aisles afar; — I am journeying on to my purple hills, And over the hills is a star. 139 BEACON My friend upon the crooking road Saw never light upon the crest, He tried to bear his weighted load By page and precept and behest. Poor soul! He went but little spell At ev^ry turn an ending was, The maxims and the mottoes fell And empty were the books and laws. * * * There was a light upon the hill It led me through the welter-way. In all the darks I saw it still Its gleam upbore me in the gray. And when the flame went out at last I knew its mem'ry in the dark, And still it led me as I passed On-beck'ning by its fadeless spark. 140 OUT Upon a twig a tiny gall One day in early spring A pinhole pierced the crusted wall Whence life had taken wing. I cut across the last-year globe And found the cell inside Whence hope had fled its hardened robe For distance blue and wide. — The wind was far that April day By woods and freshet sounds A bee flew by upon its way From out its winter bounds. 141 NEW MOON Twilight twilight of the west Sky-lines fading into rest Cloud-bars lying far and slight Shadows sinking into night, — O moon, ye moon, so faint and still Hanging hanging as ye will Low along the western sky Far and far and yet so nigh A finger's breadth within the sheen And silent shoreless vasts between — Thy aching heart long ages lost And clear and calm as film of frost Ye know no longer strain or stress All passionless and passionless. O moon, ye moon, ye day-old moon That swims within the twilight swoon So fragile fragile in the gleam A thing unreal as in a dream, How doth it seem so thin to be So bodiless and utter free? And dost thou know that thou art dead Know that thou hast no fear or dread? 142 And dost thou take of time no heed As termless eons onward speed? And why and why may I not reach Across the slender silent breach Between us here Since the way is clear? An orbed shape thou dost contain A veiled vacuous diaphane Within the hollow of thy bowl — Is it the shimmer of a soul? What mystery Hangs within thy pale intensity Thy cold serenity O twilight moon, crescent-lipped Phantom moon, ether-tipped Haunted moon, spirit-dipped! O moon, ye moon, nor souls nor men Know why or how or whence or when Ye sprang from out the primal strain Or when shall pass to naught again. 143 SPIRIT 'TwAS far away- Near Hudson's Bay. There a lone hut stood By a whitened wood With the door a-yawn And the chimney gone. And nobody knows In that realm of snows Who made it or why In the years passed by Nor his kind or race In that friendless place, Or were children born On the shores forlorn And whither they went When their time was spent, Or who came that way On some rare great day And gave to them word Of news he had heard On the long long track To the North and back; 144 But yet have they left of their spirit there And little brown twigs are thinly aware Away on the trail of the voyageur In the far-oflF land of the lonely fir. It was far away Toward Hudson's Bay. 145 REST Gently comes the eventide, Gently on the countryside Spreads the twiHght peace; Darkness gathers deep and wide Deep and far and simplified With the day's release; Close and sound the earthlings hide,- I know calmly they abide In the night's surcease. 146 SKEIN Ah sweet is the wind at the eventide And sweet is the wind when the sun has died And sweet is the wind when the hours subside And sweet is the sleep when the night comes on; Ah fresh is the wind when the night is run And fresh is the wind at the rising sun And fresh is the wind when the hours are spun And fresh is the face when the Hght comes on; Ah stout is the woof of the shuttling wind And stout is the warp of the soul abscind And stout is the skein of the life fuU-spinned And stout is the weft when the smite comes on. 147 SHE SANG "The single singer with a melodious and untrilled strain is not much heard now. The best singing I hear is now and then out among the folk, — a simple direct song as plain and sweet as a bird^s note." She sang She sang as the bird sings, TTpr vnipp hsiA ta.kpn ■winorq* She sang one sang cto i